The Giver
by squibblyquill
Summary: In a park a familiar figure is being watched, but does she know it after all this time? And what lengths will her watcher go to to arrest her attention? Short, maybe I'll continue. I do not own Labyrinth.


He watched her form gliding past the roses and stone lining the cemetery. Her hair was tied back. She didn't have a walkman. She was wearing some sort of costume for sweating—a new innovation in the history of human fashion, he mused…especially for their females. Smiling he sat perched on the branch of a budding Hawthorn. _My my aren't you all grown up, precious creature. Have you forgotten me? Am I that easy to put out of your mind?_ He watched the curve of her breast as it heaved with her steady stride, felt the glint of determined energy in her eye. The sight made him glad for a minute that he was in owl form—as a bird his lust was contained in eyes, mind, heart…

The hills were green. She bathed in the awe of everything living and new all around. The scent of honeysuckle, rose, other plants danced in her nose and opened her imagination to the promise of the forgotten unknown hidden in the pulsing weave of a midsummer afternoon. She let her gaze scan the names written on the tombstones, drinking in the relics of lives now past. There seemed to be many visitors in her usual jogging spot today. _Ah, yes…Mother's Day_…a part of her mind fumbled for a minute before forgetting that dark unwelcome shadow she'd grown so accustomed to ignoring.

She was just about to go back out the cemetery gates, when a groundskeeper stepped out from his hut and moved towards her. He was short. Shorter than her. He had black hair and a Latino face. She imagined he probably didn't speak much English. To her surprise, he addressed her rather boldly.

"Hey, lady. How are you!"

Sarah slowed and turned her head to face him squarely.

"Hi!" she smiled brusquely and began to start away in her customary stride.

"Come back little lady!" Sarah's heart thumped. That was no Latino accent. It was distinctly Caribbean. Sounded just like…

"Um, I'm sorry," She managed to spurt out as she came to a reluctant halt.

Jareth smiled underneath his glamor. He loved teasing her like this. He loved it so much he could almost forget why he started this whole game in the first place, forget too why the game would never finish…

"You know I do the roses here. You like the roses?" His accent was no longer reminiscent of the fire gang.

"Why yes, I do very much. You do a fantastic job." She pulled a strand of hair back from her forehead.

"Yeah…I'm fantastic, aren't I?" The little man winked devilishly at the fully grown woman before him. There was a rough growl in his tone that rubbed her entirely the wrong way.

This last statement took Sarah completely aback. Her instincts started to shout at her, but it was hard to justify her alarm. The man was so small, if he were to try anything on her, she could easily overpower him. So she resigned herself to a façade of politesse, determined to rise above his clearly inappropriate suggestiveness.

"Kiss for a rose, little lady?" He winked again.

This was too much. Sarah's head wheeled a mite on its axis. Not only was he asking her to kiss him, but his accent kept changing. Caribbean, and then a touch of…_But no that was inconceivable…_

A crow flew over her head breaking her confusion, and in one fleeting instant she swore she saw something entirely different standing before her eyes.

Jareth's pulse picked up. _Can she actually see me behind my magic concealment? Certainly, her reaction must be nothing but a fluke. _Nonetheless, her eyes grew wide the way that had once when they were softer, younger, more naïve—the day she had found herself in his labyrinth. He enjoyed her eyes in that condition.

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested in kisses," she tried to deliver with as much lightness and off-handedness as she could muster. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a rabbit scampering past a tree trunk down a slope. Looking back to where the man stood, she caught the glimpse of something yet again. It took her breath away. _Why do I keep seeing him everywhere?_

"Take a rose and maybe you want the kiss once you've smelled it." His grammar seemed to get better as he finished the sentence, his voice smoother. It gave her goosebumps.

She couldn't help herself. She saw the rose in his now outstretched hand and walked toward him to take it. She knew she shouldn't, that she was crazy for seeing what she saw. In any case, it was only a rose. She could take it, couldn't she? He wouldn't seriously expect a kiss from her, would he?

As she let the silken object drop into her open palm, his hand brushed lightly against hers. A part of her wanted to withdraw in a kind of revulsion—the hand was grubby, unknown, small, stubby. But she didn't withdraw. She let it touch her as her eyes fell in unnatural delight on the peach bloom sitting adroitly in her open hand.

He watched her take his gift. He loved bringing her to him, drawing her in like this. Under his glamor, teeth shone through his grin as he restrained himself from licking his lips.

Every time she took a gift from him, knowingly or not, the bond between them was fed. For now, that was enough for him. For now….

And he wanted her to accept him. Even if it meant granting kisses to short, grubby groundskeepers. He wanted his power to be that strong over her. He knew it was obsessive. But that knowledge did not deter him in the least.

"Give me a kiss now…" he murmured with his true voice, letting the richness seep over the enchantment already binding her through the rose.

Without thinking Sarah began to lean into the smiling face beaming up at her. The only thing in her mind was the voice of the Goblin King. Her lips burned with an unquenched yearning.

He took her lips. Gave her what he knew she wanted, enjoying every drop of her temporary surrender. But he couldn't leave it at that. No, of course not. He let his mouth transform into the fumbling and slightly rancid folds of his groundskeeper glamor, intentionally releasing Sarah from her spell. She came to with a pair of strange lips sucking awkwardly on her face.

Moaning in disgust, she pulled away in utter distress. Pausing for a moment to recollect her surroundings, she gasped and turned on her heels, unknowingly stepping on the rose as she departed in an embarrassed flurry. _What on earth came over me? _Her mind could not get over the shock of her own behavior. Cursing herself for letting thoughts of some half-formed dream of a Goblin King cloud her better judgment, she resolved to rush home and rinse her mouth out until she was certain no taste of that wretched kiss was left on her tongue.

Back in the cemetery, Jareth under the cloak of his glamor stepped to the spot where lay the crushed rose. As he contemplated it, a part of him registered a twinge. Yes, she had stepped on his gift. And yes, he had taken things too far. But that didn't mean he wouldn't do it again. After all, there were always new gifts to be given.


End file.
